


I am never denied.

by imightkeepyou



Series: Happier Endings AU (Deathless) [2]
Category: Deathless - Catherynne M. Valente
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imightkeepyou/pseuds/imightkeepyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend requested a happier endings AU as we were both left unsatisfied by various elements of the book, and this was my attempt to fulfill that request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am never denied.

**I.**

If anyone were to ask, Lebedeva would blame it all on Marya. Though, in truth, it was equally her own fault for agreeing—everyone knows you don’t interfere with something as messy as royalty and family ties, especially with Koschei. His deathlessness was going to be the death of him, she just knew it, and he would drag Masha down with him, as prone to dramatics as he was.

So, logically, the first step was prevention.

Surprisingly, Marya preempted Lebedeva, who had been thinking, despite her many other concerns to attend to (pearls to count, feathers to snatch, magic to practice), about how best to save Marya from what could only result in tears. An Ivan would come, Lebedeva knew that much, as an Ivan always came, and the girl, whomever she was at the time, would swoon at his promises and the size of his trousers and they’d run away together, damning them both. And since Lebedeva knew better than to get involved, she had curled her hair and painted her face and wore white to the Tsar’s many funerals.

But Marya… dear girl, she had wound her way into Lebedeva’s heart, a terrifying place to be, even if Masha didn’t fully understand and appreciate the many lessons Lebed had to teach her about the arcane. For a reason she didn’t completely understand herself, she wanted this wild, dark-haired girl from Petrograd to stay, to be the end of a cycle, and this allowed an incredible amount of patience for her follies in Lebedeva’s world.

Marya had come knocking on Lebedeva’s door, wringing her hands with worry, mouth set in a grim line. Her lips were painted coral, Lebedeva noticed, with gold touches blended from the inside, and this tugged at the vila’s heart. “I do not want to go with the Ivan, when he comes. I want to stay with Koschei,” she had said, her bottom lip trembling for the briefest moment.

"Devotchka, I love you as though you were a sister, but if you being to cry, I will be able to do nothing for you." Lebed diverted her gaze in the mirror to spare a glance at the girl behind her, pausing her work to throw a sympathetic look Marya’s way before sliding another pin into her hair. "Sit, I shall make you tea and we will figure something out, for we are women, and clever ones at that, and for all of its yearnings, the world cannot make me let go of you so easily."

And in their scheming, they came up with a plan, though Lebedeva made a show of protesting against the part she had to play. “So then, I am to seduce the Ivan? Not that it is outside of my realm of magic, mind you, only that—there are rules, you understand. There are certain parts of the story that do have to play out, or you’re only reading someone else’s book.”

Apprehension filled Marya’s eyes, and she steeled herself, pale hands gripping at each other over the white tablecloth. “I have to meet the Ivan, you mean. And I have to refuse him.”

Lebedeva nodded and closed her eyes to think, lids the color of their tea in the pot. “And I will keep him from becoming a bother.” A brow raised at Marya’s expression of tentative hope, and Lebedva picked up her cup, taking the tiniest sip of it. “The things I do for you, Masha.”

 

**II.**

Marya had already told her where they’ll be, her and the Ivan, and Lebed found them easily, watching from a distance as the Ivan pleaded with Marya. The show elicited a  _tsk_  from the vila, the dramatics hardly necessary; he’d only just met the girl, and he was already in love with her because she was Koschei’s. Or because that’s how the story went, and their people loved routine.

Marya shook her head, arms crossed over her stomach, face fierce. The Ivan pleaded again, dropping to his knees, and with another shake of her head, Marya turned on her heel and left him.

 _Here’s to hoping he’s not the sort to crawl after her_ , Lebed thought. One could never tell with bogatyrs, so full of noble intent. But he stayed on the ground for a moment, watching Marya walk away, and then got to his feet, face mournful.

 _That’s the cue_ , she thought, and stirred her magic, her lips painted pearlescent pink for innocence, her eyes dark for seduction.

Gliding over, she raised a brow at the Ivan, gave him a smile warm enough to melt butter. “What’s your name?”

The sadness around his eyes became less and less, and he spilt an answer when she laid a hand on his arm, his mouth an overturned bucket. “Ivan Nikolayevich, but—”

"I can call you Ivan." She finished his thought, hoping she would be spared the misfortune of having to entertain someone with the wits of a cow. Oh, how had she gotten herself into this? She could be at home, planning what she was to wear for weeks in advance. "Good. Now, Ivan, I have a proposal for you."

The bucket of his mouth was kicked about and he spluttered, trying to find a response. She placed a slim, pale finger against his lips and smiled at him deviously. “It is not conversation that I am looking to make.” Stood on tiptoes—Hells, this Ivan was a tall one—she whispered in his ear, grinned at the way he gulped his “yes” down.

In one swift movement she was away from him, headed towards her home. She did not need to look back to know he would follow.

 

**III.**

It had been two days since the Ivan had crawled out of her bed and Lebedeva had thought she’d seen the last of him. That is, until a knock on her door left her with him, tall as a weed in a lawn, holding a bouquet of pink flowers. He shuffled his feet at the sight of her, a smile slowly crossing his face. He was handsome, she would grant him that.

Head cocked, Lebedeva stared at the flowers before dragging her eyes back up to his face. Surely she had not been wrong about him being dimwitted—she was no blushing virgin, she did not need or want to be wooed. She took what she wanted, when she wanted, and left the rest for the past. And she had not given him any hope of anything more than that night, no promises made in times of desperate conversation. So when she spoke, it was with equal measures of confusion and distaste.

"What is that?"

The Ivan looked down at his fist, at the flowers he held, brows knit in his own confusion. “They’re flowers.”

"I understand that they’re flowers, what I am wondering is what they are doing here."

Understanding lit his eyes like a pitiful epiphany. “Oh! They are a gift. For you.” The Ivan squirmed under her scrutinizing gaze. “I… I did not know if you liked flowers, but when I saw them… they mad me think of you. Of your lips that night.” He tacked on, having the nerve to blush.

Lebedeva stared at him again, contemplating a glass cage and a golden plaque to make him a museum exhibit so that all of this staring would be warranted and not as… awkward as it actually was. The flowers were near to the exact shade she had been wearing, and wonder blossomed in her chest, stomped out quickly by curiosity.

"I suppose I could accept them." She held a hand out, ignoring the excited look the Ivan gave her as he handed them over. Turning, she studied the flowers, pressing her nose into them as she went to find a suitable place for them.

"Would you like something to drink?" She called over her shoulder. "Shut the door behind you."

 

**IV.**

It’d been months and surprisingly, the Ivan still came round. That he had not been drowned by some rusalka or left to chase Marya was something of a miracle, if Lebedeva believed in such things. He gave her pretty words and colorful flowers, all of which had a reasoning behind them. It was oddly enjoyable having someone pay attention to how she constructed herself, Lebedeva conceded after the first dozen bouquets. Even more enjoyable was knowing he’d be there when she woke up—but this she kept to herself, locked deep within the chest of herself.

On this particular morning she found herself fluttering her eyes open against sunbeams, the silhouette of him dark against the white light, the skin of him dark against the white sheets. He stared at her, a smile on his lips as always. She could never understand how someone could be so jovial all of the time, especially early in the morning.

"What?"

He shook his head once, dismissing the demand in her voice. “Nothing. Everything. You’re beautiful.”

Lebedeva buried her face in her pillow, groaning. “You say that all of the time.”

Ivan laughed, a rich sound that Lebed couldn’t help but enjoy, and reached out to tuck strands of white hair behind the shell of her ear. “You are beautiful all of the time, but especially today.”

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she brushed the underside of his wrist with the tip of her nose, looking at him from under her lashes, a kind of magic in itself. “Go make tea.” It was more a request than her previous demand, but she knew he would pretend it carried the same weight. And he did, like he always did, pausing to kiss the back of her hand, the inside of her elbow, her shoulder, before bringing her tea that nothing of her was painted to match.


End file.
